Caged And Cornered
by Wondo
Summary: Peter and Mozzie face danger confronting an old enemy. Will Neal put the pieces of the puzzle together quick enough to save them both?
1. Chapter 1

CAGED AND CORNERED

Chapter 1

It began as an especially promising day for Special Agent Peter Burke. Easing through his morning ritual of shower, shave and dressing, he began to hum a popular song that had been playing daily on the radio. He couldn't recall the actual words but the tune was upbeat and memorable. Peter felt well rested; he had woken up in plenty of time to avoid feeling rushed. The schedule at the FBI field office being unusually light this week, he was delighted to be looking forward to another rare, early departure and long, undisturbed evening with wife, Elizabeth.

Bounding down the steps inside his Brooklyn home, he abruptly paused. For a brief moment the adage of Murphy's Law came to his mind. A crossword connoisseur, priding himself on broad knowledge of archival details, Peter recalled the history behind the humorous maxim. Air Force captain Murphy, stationed at what later became Edwards Air Force Base, had been credited with a familiar bureaucratic snafu. Counseling his men to be ever vigilant, Murphy had uttered the famous warning, "whatever can go wrong, will go wrong".

Wrinkling his brow, deep in thought, Peter felt the chill of a vague premonition of danger sweep over him. He couldn't quite identify what was fueling his apprehension. However, his experience as a law officer had instilled in him a deep respect for his gut feelings.

"What is it, hon?" asked his wife as she entered the living room. "Looks like I caught you stressing about the dry cleaning, again."

Peter looked down at her and smiled an amused boyish grin. "You caught me, all right, but it's not about the dry cleaners. Pretty bad when I start worrying about the _absence_ of problems at work. I'm usually complaining to you about overtime, low budgets, mortgage fraud and sundry other petty annoyances … not to mention Neal, of course."

Elizabeth chuckled softly, motioning for her husband to continue down the last few steps. As he stopped in front of her, she reached up with both hands to straightened his collar and adjust his cobalt-blue satin tie. She had purchased the tie for him, several weeks ago as a surprise. Peter insisted upon wearing it so often, she threatened to hide it. Planting a quick kiss on his cheek, she stepped back to admire his countenance.

"Looking good as always, sweetie," she said. "Now please tell me you don't think everything's running smoothly, just because Neal happens to be missing from the office!"

"No, yes, no", said Peter, in quick succession. "Ah, I don't know what to think. You know we've never had such a stretch of good fortune. I keep waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop."

El shook her head, looking at him with a twinkle in her eye and a questioning grin. Her husband quickly articulated his thoughts.

"I know," he affirmed. "Neal and I tried to prevent his temporary transfer but Hughes was adamant. Seems Brooklyn-Queens pulled strings with Bancroft. They argued, rather reasonably I might add, that Neal's expertise was exactly what they needed to solve their open case. Hughes agreed, remember, and told me another few weeks separation would be good for us both!" Peter sighed in resignation; he hadn't really been surprised with his boss's decision. "He's never really forgotten Kramer's accusation that I lost objectivity with my own CI."

Scowling, pacing quick strides within his living room, the agent continued. "Our relationship remains under close scrutiny, El. I have to be careful not to make too many waves. I can't be seen overly protective. Some agents in the bureau think … I've compromised my ability to be Neal's handler."

"Not the people who really know you." Elizabeth watched a shadow pass over Peter's face; she hesitated. They both had assumed Kramer had Peter's best interests at heart. Wishing she had phrased her words more carefully, she continued. "We've talked about this before. What do you think? Their accusations have always angered you in the past."

Peter stopped and faced his wife. "Sometimes I worry they may be right," he said. "Somewhere along the way, did I lose my objectivity where Neal's concerned? Did I allow our friendship to weaken my adherence to bureau's standards? How often have I stepped over the line? First Fowler, then Kramer and Collins … they destroyed my belief that integrity and justice are the FBI norms." Rubbing his fingers through his short hair, Peter's dark eyes held a glint of grief. "It seems my life was a whole lot simpler and my ideals more clear-cut, before Neal entered the picture."

"Peter, doubts are a part of life. The last few months were pretty traumatic for you, and for Neal … you struggled with the thought that Neal betrayed you, stealing and hiding the Nazi treasure, right behind your back. Add Philip Kramer, someone you trusted, threatening to whisk Neal away to Washington and your temporary transfer," she laid her hand upon his arm, "of course, life seems easier in past years."

"I don't regret my association with Neal", he murmured. "Not at all; you know that. Everything we've gone through, our friendship, showing him a different way of life─"

"I know." El smiled sweetly.

"I'd never tell him this but these past few weeks … I've been really missing him. The office is never the same without him. In three days, he'll be back and I'll … I'll probably be pulling my hair out."

"Well, don't forget to call Neal and remind him about our Labor Day cookout this weekend. Ask him to bring the wine." She walked into the open kitchen, turning expectantly. When he seemed to hesitate, she beckoned him closer with her index finger, watching for approval.

"Come on, Peter."

Peter approached the breakfast counter, quickly scanning several colorful plates, laden with fresh fruit, scrambled eggs, and Canadian bacon.

"I've made you some breakfast. You're running early enough not to have to wolf it down. Now sit down and enjoy the special coffee I just prepared," she said. "I'll give you a hint…. It was dropped off by June during her visit the other day."

Peter responded with an exclamation of delight. "Thanks, honey. What a surprise! This is going to be a red letter day. I promise I'll shake off this crazy cloud of self doubt—" He sat down, pulling out her stool— "and be home early enough to take you out to dinner! We'll do Italian." He quickly placed his coffee mug close to his plate.

"I'll hold you to that, mister," said Elizabeth, as she quickly opened the back door, letting in their dog, Satchmo, before grabbing the coffee pot and sitting down at the counter. The golden Lab came bounding up to Peter, sniffing the aroma in the air and fixing his dark eyes on the food his master was just about to dive into.

As El prepared to pour Italian Roast into Peter's mug, he gave his dog a steely look. "You've been around Neal too long. Don't even _think_ of thievery. Remember!" He pointed to his dog. "I have my eyes on you at all times. I'm armed and dangerous," he added.

If Satchmo was concerned about the possible repercussions from a federal agent, he failed to acknowledge it. The dog curled up on the floor in front of his beloved owners and placed his head on Peter's foot, waiting for the crumbs to fall.

Peter smiled, leaning back with contentment. Elizabeth was right. His week had gone well; there was no cause for concern or worry. His day would pass quickly with a promise of early departure. Neal would be back in the Manhattan office within another few days or less; all was well with his world. He'd just put his uneasiness on hold.

His relief lasted throughout the early morning.

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Neal Caffrey had gotten off to a late start today. Interrupted the night before by his friend dropping by without warning, drinking his wine, conversing for hours and remaining overnight, Neal rushed through his morning routine in order to grab a few minutes to read case notes before his ride appeared.

"Neal!" said his temperamental, quirky overnight guest, "we didn't finish discussing my problem."

Preoccupied with selecting the right skinny, colored necktie to perfectly match his tailored dress shirt, the handsome conman ignored the comment, before turning up the collar of his shirt, doing up the top button and draping the tie around his neck. Threading the wide end down through the middle of the knot, he glanced around to locate his immaculate, fitted Devore suit jacket.

"Neal? Neal, I don't think you've heard a word I've said."

"I tell you everything that is really nothing, and nothing of what is everything, do not be fooled by what I am saying. Please listen carefully and try to hear what I am not saying," quoted Neal, as he finished knotting the tie. "Mozzie, I did hear you. I heard you this morning and I heard you last night.

"Hah … you can quote Charles Finn but ignore the severity of my situation! Listen my old_, _alleged confederate in crime, would you please turn your attention to moi?" Neal's friend continued. "Provide me the courtesy of a few crumbs of emotional support and feigned distress over my predicament. At least, before the 'Man' arrives to grab you for another exciting day of money laundering and chasing little blue smurfs." The smaller man rose from the couch he had been seated upon, disdainfully watching his friend prepare for work. "Would you please address my poor plight?"

Neal reached for a strikingly vivid, yellow pocket square to accentuate his suit jacket, waving it as a dismissive gesture to his friend. "Come on, Moz. That's not fair. We spent most of last evening discussing your problem about Lowden. I offered you several avenues to consider. The main one still being, to discuss this with Peter; he needs to be aware of the potential danger you may have placed yourself in."

Mozzie gasped in righteous astonishment. "_Potential _danger _I've_ put myself in! A crazed thug, with an even more dangerous, federally imprisoned, lunatic brother, is stopping by my Thursday place of business, to insist I fence his hot merchandise and you want me to ask the Feds for help." He paused to gather his breath. "Which one of these scenarios is a losing proposition? Are you really telling me to choose between working with a crazed criminal element … or admitting to trafficking in stolen property? You do know that's a felony! Right? Is that really what you expect me to choose from?"

"No, not at all. As you so eloquently and loquaciously told me last night, Stanley Lowden put out feelers on the street to locate a fence. He may or may not be getting ready to contact you. Be honest. Aren't you the one who decided to work with him a few years ago?"

"We all make mistakes."

"Send out word through your contacts; you're not interested. I remember Peter talking about Lowden's brother David. There's no love lost between him and Lowden's entire family; he'll keep an ear out for you.

As Neal reached for the Brooklyn-Queens case file, still perched on the wine rack where it had been left the previous night, Mozzie walked out to the patio and peered down to the street below. "Oh great! 'Fed Express' is here for you. Black sedan nondescript, two suits in the front seat. Better hurry. Oh … I'm sure they'll make you sit in the back!"

"Moz … I'll talk to Peter about this today. We're stopping off at the Manhattan office for a few minutes to debrief before heading out to Queens. Don't worry."

Neal smiled rushing out the door, missing Mozzie's last murmur.

"No, of course I won't worry. I'm only in danger of being dismembered or locked away for a millennium …"

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**A/N**: Thank you to Ali_WC for being my beta.

I'll be posting updates 1X a week.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

As Neal and the Brooklyn-Queens agents entered the bullpen area of the Manhattan White Collar office, the handsome conman was secretly overjoyed to see Peter perched on the side of a table, next to the coffee machine, FBI mug in hand, laughing and gesturing exuberantly. Jones and Diana were on opposite sides of Peter, grinning with amusement, obviously enjoying their boss's good humor. They all appeared to be sharing some joke. Peter's smile broadened even wider as he looked up, surveyed the room and spotted the men's approach. He straightened up, said something to his colleagues, and moved several steps forward, greeting his visitors.

"Well, look here. The new shining star of our local resident agency returns for a visit. It's good to see you, Neal." Burke turned to Neal's companions. "How's he doing? I've heard glowing reports."

Agents Lattimore and Bronson returned the smile. Marty Bronson, the senior member of the pair, a tall, slim, dark-complexioned male, placed one hand upon Neal's shoulder, waving Peter back with the opposite hand.

"Agent Burke, you can't have him back. Neal's proving to be an invaluable asset to our investigation. We need him, at least for another full week."

Quinn Lattimore, blond, bespectacled and surprisingly young-looking, nodded in agreement. "We're finally close to busting the Costa family. There's no way we're turning back now."

A crease formed distinctly between Peter's eyes as he contemplated this new information. Neal directed his gaze at the floor, grinning with false modesty and obvious delight. Looking up at Peter, he raised his eyebrows, smiling his most genial smile at him.

For the past two weeks, Neal had been busy working overtime on the Costa money laundering case. He wouldn't openly admit it, but he was enjoying all facets of the investigation. To his pleasant surprise he not only found the case enthralling but discovered the Brooklyn-Queens resident agency friendly and hospitable, at least on the surface. If they were uneasy or hostile about having a felon in their midst, they were keeping it well hidden.

From unit supervisor, Special Agent Robert Miller, down to the lowest provisionary clerk, office personnel had welcomed him, offering him the gamut of document assistance, a personal desk, access to confidential records, and specialty coffee runs. His criminal history and past reputation as a fugitive certainly didn't seem to offend their sensibilities. Neal wasn't completely sure if acceptance was related to the desperate need of a high profile prosecution for the media or that his dutiful partner had beguiled them with an inflated track record. Either way, Bronson and Lattimore were quite apt to feed his ego, wittingly ensuring his enthusiastic participation.

Piecing together the bewildering puzzle of filtering "dirty" money through a series of numerous, scattered transaction locations had held Neal's interest for weeks. Working with a small group of case agents, the brash CI had quickly researched records of institutions and culprits involved in the first distinct step of money laundering. Through an assortment of runners or "smurfs", a name derived from the little blue cartoon characters that moved around their village doing mindless work, millions of dollars had been deposited into numerous banks and accounts through cash, money orders and wire transfers, each well under the legal limit of $10,000, cleverly avoiding the government's reporting requirements. Smurfing, performed by a large group of small entities performing numerous financial transactions, was a successful way to avoid currency reporting.

The Manhattan office's renowned criminal consultant was now in the midst of identifying the second phase of the money laundering operation. Neal was delving into layering; the process by which criminals separated profits through a multitude of financial transaction layers to prevent tracing the source of the money. He knew the Costa enterprise had moved their funds from individual accounts to numerous unaffiliated banks overseas through electronic fund transfer, separating them from the original source. The gang was probably disguising their money as payments for goods or different services. Neal relished identifying which banks they were using.

Jeffrey Costa, kingpin of the gang, was slick and brilliant. That Neal was so close to solving a case that had baffled experienced federal agents for well over a year was, he had to admit, intoxicating. If he hadn't missed his colleagues from the Manhattan White Collar unit, Peter foremost among them, he'd have been happy to spend a few more weeks in Queens.

Diana and Jones exchanged looks. "Five bucks Peter will argue the time extension," whispered Jones, in an undertone, bending toward Diana, as she pursed her lips and shrugged one shoulder. They both folded their arms and leaned back, awaiting their boss's answer. They knew Peter was eager for Neal's return to the unit.

Peter swallowed down his automatic prickle of annoyance for his visitors assumption they would be granted a time reprieve, even though he was inclined to hesitantly agree. If BQRA was that close to a bust, he knew Hughes and Bancroft would authorize the request. Nevertheless, he wasn't going to appear eager to acquiesce. After all, Caffrey was a valuable member of their office; Peter wasn't going to allow Neal's extension to go on indefinitely.

"An extension?" he chided. "We agreed upon a specified amount of time Neal would be utilized by your office. We have our own backlog of cases to process," Peter reminded Bronson.

Behind Peter's back, Jones extended his hand toward Diana, as if his bet had been proven correct. She ignored the gesture.

"Where are you at with the Costa case? Give me a run down."

Bronson acknowledged Peter's concern with a nod. He hesitated a moment before answering, clearly unhappy with divulging specific case details. "Our office is finishing up with the layering. We need more time to identify integration. Neal will be working with Lattimore on the third step. If we can pinpoint where they're cleaning the funds, we've got them." The agent was anxious to discover where the money was surfacing as legitimate assets.

Neal spoke up. "Peter, I want to follow this trail to the end. I've started a list of Costa's assets that invite an investigation. It may not—"

The lead agent focused a grim gaze on his partner, shaking his head to silence him. "Let's discuss this in my office, Neal. Diana, will you notify Hughes and escort our visitors to the conference room; I'll be there shortly." He nodded to the case agents as he crossed the large room, heading upstairs to the second floor with Neal following on his heels.

Peter entered his glass-walled office, sat down behind his desk, motioning Neal to the seat opposite him.

"Is there a problem, Peter? You seem to need me back right away. I mean, don't misunderstand, I'm honored … I just didn't realize the office couldn't function without me for another long absence."

"Yeah … it's a monumental struggle," replied Peter. "Okay Neal, I'm curious. You've never shown such consuming interest in our own money laundering cases. Why now? Tell me straight. It can't be just the resident agency's location … greenery and quiet nights in Kew Gardens."

Neal ignored Peter's challenge. He looked at his mentor with a flash of excitement. "Is it surprising that I'm in the middle of something that's really caught my interest? This jigsaw puzzle has thrown their best agents … I'm in the enviable position of becoming their hero. We're only talking an extra few days."

The slightest twitch of a smile fluttered on the agent's lips. Could Neal Caffrey, convicted felon and international fugitive, recently returned to obligatory consultant duty, be caught up in the thrill of solving a federal bank crime? He wanted to savor the irony, but resisted the impulse to delay his answer. "You want me to okay the extra time?" Burke asked bluntly.

Neal sat up straighter. "I do," he replied.

"Don't you remember the August Rules and Tools meeting, in the conference room? One of the items on the agenda was the length of time an office was authorized to utilize a loaner agent."

"Peter, you really expect me to remember last month's Rules and Tools roundtable? That last one was worse than ever. I had to force myself awake and appear even nominally attentive. Do you know how hard it is to fight off drooping eyelids and massive yawns."

Peter fixed Neal with the famous Burke stare. "If I remember you were quite talkative the entire two hours."

"It's an old trick I learned. If you force yourself to speak during a meeting, it can help kick your brain back in gear and direct your eyes to focus. Call it an aspect of self-defense. By the way, who was responsible for that infamous meeting? Wasn't it Senior Agent Johnson?"

"Johnson was on leave. He asked me to plan the agenda."

Silence. It lasted for a few seconds. Finally Neal said, "Like I was saying … those Rules and Tools assemblies are just peachy."

"Stop," Peter held up his hand. "You have one more week with BQRA, no more."

"Thanks, Peter," Neal said with a smile. "Don't worry. Soon I'll be back within your iron-hard, tight-fisted, small circle of jurisdiction and you can punish me with all the mortgage case files you've been compiling and stacking up for my return." He paused. "How many is it, by the way?"

"I don't remember," Peter answered, deadpan. "Prior to this conversation it was probably two hundred forty-seven. Now it's at least double that. Enough to keep you busy until Christmas, oh ..."

The senior agent passed his hand over his forehead. "That reminds me … El wanted me to bring up our annual Labor Day barbeque. Can you provide the wine? Please tell Mozzie to forget dessert this year. Last time he brought his homemade cherries jubilee and almost burned my house down. How much brandy did he―"

"That's this weekend." Neal paused, weighing his next words with caution. "Umm … Bronson and Lattimore wanted to work through the holiday. They asked if I wouldn't mind; it would speed up the arrest."

"Yeah, sure … I understand." Peter quickly hid his chagrined expression. "No problem. I don't know how many holidays I've spent in the office. I'm sure El's probably kept count."

"I'm sorry, Peter. Putting in overtime will bring me back to the Manhattan unit much sooner. For consolation, you'll at least have Mozzie."

Peter nodded, a pained expression on his face.

"In fact he needs to talk to you about the Lowden brothers."

The agent's attention and anger were instantly aroused. "The Lowdens? How's Mozzie involved with the Lowdens? Neal, do you know the danger David Lowden represents? You've heard me talk about our ongoing investigation of an identity theft and bribery ring he runs behind bars. It's massive; I want to nail that guy! I put him behind bars and he thumbs his nose at us while running cons in federal lockup."

Neal nodded, aware of Peter's intense fury of bribery within a federal corrections facility.

Diana poked her head in the door. "Boss, everyone's waiting in the conference room."

"It's not what you think," Neal quickly added. "Stanley Lowden contacted Moz. He wanted his advice about some articles to … ah, find buyers for... Mozzie doesn't know how to persuade them he's not interested. If you put some heat on Stanley, he probably won't surface again."

Peter closed his eyes. He knew the calm, peaceful day had slipped away from him.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you for the reviews and alerts.

Mozzie is about to get a disturbing phone call …

Chapter 3

Within the conference room, the hastily convened meeting proceeded with minimum disruption. Special Agent in Charge Reese Hughes, Peter's direct superior, listened to Bronson's briefing update and official request for Neal's time extension. Fixing a hard gaze upon Peter, hearing no direction challenge, the gruff, gray-haired senior official, quickly acquiesced his approval.

"I understand your situation. With no objection from my senior case agent—" he again peered at Peter, "—you have Caffrey's expertise for one additional week. Keep Burke appraised of any significant facts and problem areas." Hughes, arising from his chair, signaling the meeting disbanded, turned to Neal. "Caffrey, I want you calling in twice a day with updates to this office."

As the CI nodded his affirmation, the agents began filing out of the room. Neal and Peter paused in the doorway.

"You have your week," said Peter. "Neal, be careful. Don't do anything rash or stupid in your haste to close this case. I don't want to be racing over to Brooklyn having to pull you out of some inferno."

"I doubt there's any danger. It's been mostly foot work and paper chase." Neal changed the subject. "How're you doing, by the way? What's your case of the week? It's made you extra grouchy."

"I am not … grouchy. In fact, this has been an unusually quiet, low-key week. I plan to spend some time digging into an area I've been working piecemeal on for the last two weeks."

"Okay … be cryptic."

Gazing down at the bullpen, both men noticed Lattimore, motioning Neal to the entryway.

"Better go. Your new partners are anxious to leave."

"My new colleagues, you mean … I only have one partner."

A smile tugged on Peter's lips as Neal, jaunting down the stairs, turned and flashed him a grin, raising a hand in affectionate good by salute.

Agent Jones returned to the second floor and quietly approached his boss. Followed resolutely in his footsteps was young probationary agent Jeremy Blake, both men burdened with numerous folders Burke had requested early that morning.

"You asked for quite a backlog of files," Jones said, pausing a moment before making the delivery in Peter's office. Carefully stacking the paperwork on the tidy desk, Jones pulled the thickest file from Blake's hands and scanned the contents. As Peter entered the office, Jones turned to him and held up the folder, whistling his appreciation of his boss's tenacity.

"David and Stanley Lowden! We're back on track … after that tip we received last week, I knew you'd be zeroing in on David's outside contacts."

"Patience, passion, and pertinacity; remember the three P's," Peter replied, sitting down at his desk. Jones smiled, while Blake nodded in the affirmative.

"Jones, I have research to do this morning and some calls to make. With any luck, by this afternoon, I plan to make some headway with a scouting mission."

After the two agents left, Peter raised the Lowden file, looking thoughtful. Balancing the folder on the palm of one hand, he appeared to be mentally weighing the charges he planned to lodge against an old adversary. Five years ago, Peter had diligently pursued the younger Lowden. Meticulously building a case of identity theft and telemarketing fraud, he pushed for the maximum penalty when the criminal expressed no remorse for his crimes. Targeting the elderly and the unwary, Lowden had pretended to be a police officer or federal agent to obtain private information to bilk his victims. Peter Burke had felt a warm satisfaction when Davey Lowden received the maximum sentence.

Although convinced older brother Stanley had been heavily connected to David's earlier felonies, Peter had failed to find enough evidence to arrest him, let alone push for conviction. The lack of evidence had never ceased to rankle him, even after he was forced to put the case on ice. Although he periodically analyzed the elder Lowden's transactions, all activities stayed on the peripheral of suspected misdemeanors or crimes outside White Collar jurisdiction. Peter's continual backlog of office cases prevented him from digging deeper.

In recent months, word had surfaced through a prison snitch that Lowden had been running an extremely lucrative theft and bribery scheme. The imprisoned, brazen felon was reportedly stealing personal information like birth dates, social security, credit card and bank account numbers from countless sources via telephone ruses. With such wealthy information, David was using it to access bank accounts and credit to purchase high end items.

According to the snitch, identified in the records by the innocuous name of Barney, young Lowden had been overheard bragging about expensive TV's and computer systems he now owned; items supposedly shipped to associates addresses. Rumored to be assisted by numerous accomplices, both inside and outside federal prison, Burke was anxious to dig deeper into the investigation to prove complicity and identify the culprits. He realized the felon must be paying impressive pay-offs. If he discovered Stanley was, once again, involved in his brother's criminal activities, Burke was determined to uncover evidence necessary to take down both men.

Neal had linked Mozzie's name with one of the Lowden brothers; the agent's interest was piqued. Peter was anxious to put a stop to the family's criminal plans. He didn't want Neal's close friend and Elizabeth's little cooking buddy to suffer any residual harm.

Barney had referenced James McDonnell, Bronx local businessman, as an outside contact. McDonnell had been a frequent prison visitor. Dropping by on numerous visiting days, he appeared to have a vested interest in the younger Lowden's welfare. The penitentiary log annotated five meetings within a two month's timeframe. With his afternoon agenda wide open, Peter decided to call McDonnell and arrange an impromptu visit. He still had plenty of time before lunch to research the man's business holdings and personal history prior to the rendezvous.

The tenacious agent turned to his computer and took a deep breath, hunkering down into predatory mode. Peter leaned forward in his chair, opened one of the files, instantly focusing on the contents.

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Mozzie had just finished an exhilarating board game of backgammon with June, Neal's landlady; one of his favorite kindred spirits. Sharing mimosas and breakfast quiche on the patio, the elegant society matron and the neurotic confidence man had spent a pleasant few hours challenging each other with strategic moves and counter moves. Briefly tempted to enlist her advice about his pressing problem regarding Stanley Lowden, he quickly dropped the idea. Mozzie had no desire to worry June or abuse her generous hospitality.

The wary fence was certainly not comfortable with Neal's advice. In fact, he was peeved with his closest compatriot. Ever since Neal became embroiled with the Brooklyn-Queens office, it seemed he had little time or interest for Mozzie. Feeling slighted and edgy, Mozzie headed out Neal's apartment door resigned to the task of visiting various acquaintances, determined to sift out any usable dirt on the Lowdens.

As he walked down the mansion's elegant staircase, his cell phone rang. Mozzie peered at the originating number.

"Two-Fingers! What're you doing calling my private number?" he questioned. "This isn't my burner phone."

He was chagrined when Stanley Lowden's voice reached his ears. Failure to follow his strict precautionary rules of phone protocol had opened a door to danger. His unsettled situation with Neal had weakened his defenses.

"You haven't been answering my calls," said the hostile voice. "This is Lowden; I borrowed Two-Finger's phone. I knew I'd hit pay dirt with one of your buddies."

Mozzie cringed, Two–Fingers did not belong in any buddy classification.

Lowden's voice rose in agitation. "We had an arrangement, remember?"

"I remember it more as a business proposal―"

"Let me clarify the situation for you then … You _will_ provide me assistance in selling some highly profitable merchandise."

"Montapert said, 'All lasting business is built on friendship' …."

"Is that right? Well, Mario Puzo and I say 'friendship and money is oil and water'. Meet me at my warehouse at 1:30; the one I told you about last week. This is not a request …"

"I'll be there," Mozzie answered with resignation and dread.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Mozzie had spent two uncomfortable hours ensconced in Stanley Lowden's computer warehouse, surrounded by the thug and his motley network support crew. First engaging in fake pleasantries, he followed up with a tedious, lengthy rendition of the identification and modus operandi of dealers willing to purchase and sell large lots of high end laptops. Stanley was hoping for easy money from the lucrative computers and tablets David had obtained and stored in his various temporary storage locations.

Mozzie was very close to extricating himself, leaving with a vague promise of return, when a loud scuffling noise arose from the back entrance of the warehouse. As the men turned to stare in the direction of the disturbance, several burly individuals rushed through the passageway, roughly propelling a disheveled man within their midst. The unfortunate victim was being man-handled amid jostling elbows, vicious shoves, and strident verbal insults. As the group cleared the bay doors, Lowden and his associates got a clear view of the captive.

The man was tall, well-dressed, in his forties, wearing an ordinary gray pin-striped business suit and bright blue tie. Arms held forcibly behind his back, he was unwillingly maneuvered to a standstill several feet in front of the gang. As the detainee lifted his head, struggling to catch his breath, Mozzie's initial recognition and dread was confirmed. It was the Suit all right; Peter Burke himself! Neal's custodian, mentor and perplexing friend, stood within their midst.

A surprised exclamation, sudden and unwittingly, burst from the small man's lips. "Hey, what …?"

Lowden looked over at him with intense interest, while Peter recognizing the voice, barely retained a stunned silence, peering bewilderingly at Mozzie, stiffening in shock. The conman quickly and guiltily looked away for a short moment, attempting to regain composure.

"Wait," said the ringleader, raising his hand in a stop gesture, gaze narrowing with suspicion. "You know this man?"

"No, no. I just think he's a fed …," Mozzie stuttered, pausing with alarm. "Look at the 'Brooks Brothers' off-the-rack clothes." He shook his head. "You'd think these guys would try to blend in more …."

Eyes narrowed in suspicion, menace hovering on his features, Lowden edged closer to his dismayed guest. Scrutinizing Mozzie with careful deliberation, brow furrowed in concentration, a moment of silence preceded his next words.

"You know him," declared the computer boss. "Tell me how!"

"Well … I may have seen him in the past. I have some friends—" Mozzie paused "—who've been forced to work with a number of feds. Sometimes it's impossible to keep out of their radar. They have the ability to multiple like rabbits."

As Peter reacted with a scowl, the head criminal edged closer to Mozzie.

"Let's not play games, Lowden. You know who I am. I'm Agent Burke, FBI."

Anger flaring, Lowden quickly turned on the agent. "Shut him up," he ordered Bailey, one of the larger thugs surrounding the man.

As a rear hoodlum tightened his hold on Peter, Bailey stepped forward, delivering a punishing blow to the agent's midsection. Stricken with pain, Burke crumbled forward, sinking to his knees. Coughing in distress, held up by the restraining arms of his rear captor, he slowly glanced up at Mozzie.

"Are you nuts?" exclaimed Mozzie, turning to Lowden in surprise and dismay. "I don't want any part in assaulting a federal officer. Do you realize the ramifications of what you've done? You told me this was a minor fencing job." He continued to reason with the gangster. "Lowden, be smart. Let Burke go and let's get the hell out of here."

"Unfortunately, my small, infuriating quote-endowed amigo, you just found yourself embroiled in the middle of a long term battle raging between Burke and my brother, David. You see … our little business here is actually financed and managed by my brother. David may be in lockdown in the state pen but even there he manages to run our entire operation. We're funded by a very lucrative operation he's got going, even while caged … right under the feds very noses. Little Davey's always proven to be the family genius."

Lowden, a smile hovering on his lips, motioned to his strongmen to painfully wrench Peter upright into a vertical stance.

"Isn't that right, Agent Burke?" he challenged.

"Your brother's incarcerated for fraud, the last I checked," answered Burke with calm detachment. "I helped put him there myself … but you know that." Peter scanned the area as he spoke, desperately searching for any weakness in security, any minute opening offering even a glimmer of hope. With weapon confiscated, surrounded by hostile hoodlums, held in the vise-tightened grasp of a 300 lb muscleman, he had to admit to himself his situation appeared alarmingly bleak.

The vast open room in which he found himself appeared to be the receiving, loading dock and temporary holding area for refurbished and used computers, electronic equipment and assorted peripherals. Scattered throughout the area on benches and in bins were isolated network interface controllers, system boards, packaged cables, hard disk drives, printers and image scanners. Parked in the far right corner were several forklifts and a small crane carefully positioned and available for the loading, unloading and movement of goods. Amid all this mishmash, what could he possibly use to his advantage?

Any further reflections were stymied when Lowden slowly approached him, facing him dead on. Menace filled the IT honcho's voice as he stopped within inches of the agent.

"Do you want to continue living, Burke? Then listen very carefully," he sneered. "Right now I'm keeping you alive as a bargaining chip; I like to hedge my bets. If your friends somehow get wind of this location, before I'm ready to close shop or dispose of your body, then a live hostage works." He grabbed Peter's suit coat. "But if you annoy me beyond reason, I'll just let my associates have some fun with you and we'll keep your body on ice. Either way, I win."

The agent briefly glanced down at the man's hand tightening on his jacket lapel, lifting the material with a twist. Raising his head, fixing a hard gaze at his adversary, he provided his reply. "Murder a federal officer…" Peter pointed out "… and you face death row." He voice rose with emphasis, "You'll never get away with this. My people are on their way right now."

"You'll have to do better than that," Lowden laughed. "My men followed you to the waterfront . They made sure no one was with you. Burke, you had no chance to contact anyone after you left McDonnell's. Once we got word you were checking into Davey's activities, he decided to end your snooping. No one can tie your disappearance to him and we've found a great spot for your burial." He leaned into the agent's face. "We have a remote track of land in Jersey…."

Mozzie, remaining quiet throughout the conversation, shifted uneasily from one sneakered foot to the other. His eyes darted first from one man and back to the other. Mentally running through a variety of cons, desperately and quickly casting off numerous scenarios, he couldn't come up with any immediate plausible solution to rescue himself or Burke from imminent danger. Removing his glasses, he nervously rubbed his eyes, hoping the agent would remain quiet, refraining from inciting further brute force.

Mozzie was aware of Stanley Lowden's capacity for mindless violence. He wanted time to extricate himself from the computer warehouse, alert the bureau and save this infuriating agent's life. He feared Burke would decide to play 'super fed', a heroic but suicidal decision, at the present time. Neal wasn't one to give compliments, yet he often attested to this agent's brilliance. Mozzie, ever the misanthrope, was mindful that being smart didn't always equate to common sense. In fact, Peter had chosen, of his own volition, to become a member of an inflexible, tyrannical government bureaucracy. How crazy was that? Surely evidence, in Mozzie's mind, of some insanity or, at the very least, mental instability.

"As soon as I fail to report back to the office, my agents will come looking for you. They'll track me down," Burke stated, matter-of-fact, returning Lowden's, cold insincere smile.

Neal Caffrey's small friend winced. This was not going well. Not well at all. Maybe the suit had a backup plan or hidden ace up his sleeve. No matter the risk of arrest for complicity in Lowden's criminal activities, Mozzie desperately hoped the White Collar unit was on their way or positioned outside the building, moments from storming the facility.

Rejecting the supposition within seconds, easing back into his lifelong, protective attitude of cynicism, he had to admit the obvious. Burke was in dire straits and dragging him down by association. They'd both be lucky to escape from this mess with their lives intact. Why had he ever let Neal influence him into cozying up to this authoritative autocrat? Why had he let himself be lulled into frequent phone chats, recipe swaps and social tea klatches with the Suit's delightful wife, Elizabeth Burke? All this had led to a clandestine breach of his 'no fed-zone'. Now he was reaping the consequences of his indiscretion.

Moz always suspected his close relationship with Burke would end up backfiring to his disadvantage. Well, there was no way he was going to play the hero once again. He was tired of being involved with this … this _magnet of mishap_. Some people, like himself, were meant to sit on the sidewalk curb, relegated to clapping and watching the parade go by! Burke was just going to have to save himself, this time around!

Releasing his hold on the agent, Lowden stepped back. Directing his remarks to his cohorts, he held his hands aloft.

"Did you hear that? Agent Burke's betting his life on the competency of his office staff. Fool!" he chuckled. Motioning to two of the henchmen, he ordered, "Cuff him and take Burke back to the cages. Find him a good home. He's going to be our guest for awhile. Maybe he'll provide us some fun diversion."

Snapping the agent's own handcuffs upon his wrists, Bailey and another companion shoved Peter toward the interior of the building.

As Lowden's group began to disperse, Mozzie slowly began to ease his way over to the outer door.

"Wait!" instructed the crime boss, his voice filling the little guy with a sense of dread.

As blood drained from Mozzie's face, the confidence man felt faint. "Ah … listen, I have to go," he said. "This has been fun but I have lots of errands to run. You assured me this would only take a short time."

Lowden shook his head. "You're not leaving. We haven't finished our business and I'm not going to take the chance of you running off to the feds as a snitch." His gaze flickered over the document Mozzie had placed on the table. "Let's continue discussing our business; you'll be staying with us until I finish with Burke."

"All right," replied Mozzie, his voice coming out strained. "But I didn't bring my toothbrush or pajamas."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thank you for the reviews and alerts. Chapter 5 focuses on Peter and Mozzie's desperate situation; Neal returns next chapter.

Chapter 5

The laser protected, high end security door to the storage room opened with a bang. Mozzie nervously stepped across the threshold, escorted by Bailey, the strong arm. As the door slammed shut behind them, Moz stopped dead-still. Peering into a short corridor, leading into a larger room, he noticed several wire mesh storage cages, measuring approximately 6 feet wide by 10 feet deep. The full visibility of the cages and unrestricted circulation of air, heat, and light were expensive assets in a climate-controlled atmosphere.

Obviously used to prevent pilferage, the cages contained brand new high-end computers and associated electronics. Lowden's most expensive and extensive merchandise was safely secured behind cutting edge security, monitored by an extensive fire suppression system.

The last two cages, at the far end of the rectangular room, were devoid of merchandise. One structure held a tousled and irate Special Agent Peter Burke. Displaying several fresh bruises on his face, he sat on the concrete floor, hands tightly cuffed in front of him, intently scrutinizing the pair's approach.

As Mozzie passed by his enclosure, he slowly rose to his feet. Burke took careful note of Bailey's restraining arm encircling the smaller man's shoulder. Bailey, smiling at him as they went by, nudged the grifter into the adjoining cell, and carefully secured the panel hardware.

"Now you have some company, Burke," stated the balding, towering muscle man. "You two make such a pretty couple."

Mozzie was quick to disagree. "I prefer not to mingle with the government element, if you don't mind. Bailey … I insist you tell Lowden I haven't done anything wrong to receive this kind of shoddy treatment." He grabbed the wire enclosure mesh wall, shaking it to make his point.

"Don't worry, Stretch. The boss is just taking precautions. He doesn't want anyone alerting the feds we have one of their own." Raising his eyebrows with a smirk, he paused and pointed defiantly at Peter. "Look at him, all chained and waiting for execution. Are you counting down the hours, Burke?"

Peter frowned, his eyes flashing. "Use some common sense, Bailey. Are you suicidal? Kill me and you'll never stop running. The Bureau will comb every nook and cranny for you."

Bailey headed for the door, without looking at either man.

"Keep an eye on your watch; I give you … ah, forty-eight hours, at the most." He stopped for a moment."I'm going to go get something to eat. You two stay here," he snickered. Going out the door, and slamming it shut, he continued to laugh at his own joke.

"Fine example of a Cro-Magnon," declared Mozzie. "The wild, cruel beast is not behind the bars of the cage. He is in front of it."

"You're quoting Axel Munthe now?"

Looking around his enclosure, Mozzie glanced over to the special agent. Although there was little chance of a surveillance listening device, both men spoke in a quiet voice.

"This is a fine mess you've gotten me into, Suit. I was ready to finish my business with Lowden and escape these goons and you had to show up! At least, please tell me you really weren't the one who put his brother behind bars."

"Davey Lowden was on my radar for years. I finally brought him down for fraud and other crimes. We recently got wind he's continuing his operation in prison but no one's been able to come up with the evidence. The office's been monitoring his suspected accomplices, in and out of prison. I knew if I disrupted his brother's illegal activities it would stir up some action." Burke paused, lifting his wrists and eyeballing his restraints. "I just miscalculated the type of action." He fixed his caged companion with a steely gaze. "What were _you _doing here?"

"Since it obviously matters a great deal to you, I'll provide an explanation this one time only. Remember however, I am forcibly confined and this admission is extracted under extreme duress. What I tell you is not admissible in a court of law."

"Thank you, counselor." Long ago resigned to his companion's peculiarities, Peter wearily sat back upon the floor, motioning for the small man to continue.

Within his cage, Mozzie settled into a seated yoga meditation posture. Continuing the conversation, his eyes continually roamed over the entire enclosure, taking in the simple but secure galvanized steel wire. The walls, made of 8-guage welded mesh and anchored to the floor, were ideal for stock rooms and containment of unwanted guests.

"This intellectual maestro of criminality, Stanley Lowden, has some background dirt on me … I may have erred in the past by performing, um … a slight service for his gang."

Peter nodded, waving at him again, to continue.

"I, unwittingly and without knowledge, of course, _allegedly_ became a fence for some of his stolen merchandise. A few days ago, he sent his stooges to threaten me with bodily harm if I didn't help him with similar assistance on his newest project. To protect my welfare, I thought it best to meet with him and come up with a brilliant excuse for nonparticipation."

"And did you?" asked Burke.

"Did I what?"

Peter groaned. "Persuade him your participation was futile?"

"I was endeavoring to do just that, Mr. Untouchable, when you appeared on the scene. Now he's somehow connecting me with your renowned white collar unit."

"Does Neal know anything about this meeting?" asked Peter hopefully. He was crestfallen by Mozzie's next words.

"Ah … no. You've got him tied up with those little blue characters wearing socks on their heads; he barely heard my plea for help. Why would he bother about his best friend's minor problem of wanton endangerment, when he's busy protecting our nation's money grubbing financial institutions for you?"

Peter momentarily closed his eyes, sighed heavily and looked down at the overly tight restraints rubbing his wrists raw. As Mozzie's gaze took in his fellow inmate's slumped shoulders and cheek abrasions, his voice suddenly softened.

"Hey Suit," the smaller man called out, gesturing to his own face. "Bailey give you a work over?"

Peter's reply was a feigned shrug of indifference. Quickly deflecting the question, the law officer challenged his companion. "Can you get us out of here?"

Mozzie discreetly accepted the redirect.

"I've been analyzing that possibility while we've talked. Did you note these mesh partitions are galvanized woven wire arranged in a grid pattern? Very tough, secure, economical, quick to install and popular … I wish I had the patent–"

"Would you―" interrupted Peter.

"Let me finish! These cages are designed to pass a high level of security. Note how the panels are mounted flush to the floor, which eliminates the sweep space. Check out the mounting hardware, it's tack welded in place."

Peter shook his head in exasperation. "What you're describing to me, in very minute and extremely painful detail, are DEA standards."

"I think I just made that blatantly clear," retorted Mozzie. "Lowden went to a lot of expense to protect his stock of merchandise. This specially designed woven wire is impenetrable to bolt cutters and this mesh can't be climbed." He paused. "Do you want the good news or the bad news?"

Exhaling noisily through his nose, Peter answered abruptly.

"Both."

"In time, I can get us out of these cages. The outer door with the laser security is much more of a challenge. Do you happen to have another means of rescue?"

"No!"

"I take it then, your words to Lowden about federal agents on their way to track you down, was wishful thinking?"

"I didn't have time to alert the office before I was grabbed. Jones knows I was coming down to the waterfront to talk to a source about David Lowden's outside prison accomplice. I left him the meeting location and the name, but if my source wasn't the one who gave them my whereabouts, I'll be pretty hard to trace. Stanley's goons could have been following me … I should have been more alert." Peter leaned up against the common mesh wall that shared their individual enclosures.

"Look Mozzie, if you get the chance to break out of here … If they take you back to the dock and an opportunity presents itself, take it."

Mozzie raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Lowden and his brother have decided to ante up the stakes. They're not planning to keep me alive much longer; not with Stanley admitting his brother's guilt. You need to save yourself and not look back. Being a witness to my abduction doesn't bode well for you."

Mozzie's claustrophobia, his proximity to danger, and Neal's inattention during the last several weeks caused a misdirected tirade; his voice rising in anger.

"Look Suit. You don't have to worry about me. My fear of death is directly in proportion to my fear of being mutilated and dismembered. I'm sure Lowden and his gang are experts in both areas. When I get the chance I'm out of here." He paused. "Unlike Neal, you see, I have no involuntary or forcibly contrived relationship with you."

Peter was unable to hide the slight flinch. His cellmate's angry words had obviously stung their target.

"Good. I'm glad we're in agreement," the agent answered softly.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Neal had spent a long, tedious afternoon at the Brooklyn-Queens office. Checking records of suspicious wire-transfers between banks overseas, he searched for transactions noteworthy in frequency, volume and complexity. The Costas' would strive to make their transactions look legitimate in the hope of obscuring the origin of their funds.

Switzerland, long known as a haven for money-launderers, tightened its financial reporting laws. Neal placed his focus on countries now welcoming dirty money, including the Third World and the former USSR. Struggling nations had come to rely on lucrative sources, legitimate or not, as needed revenue.

As he shuffled mounds of paper around his temporary desk, the CI was overjoyed to hear his cell phone ring. He eagerly welcomed any momentary distraction; his eyes needed a break from the tedium of peering at statistics. Bronson had insisted his staff annotate additional information before visiting bank institutions on their suspect list. Neal was anxious to forge ahead and talk to the bank officials. Once again, he was cognizant of how much he thrived under Peter's more aggressive leadership.

Noting his call was from the Manhattan office, Neal answered promptly. He was momentarily surprised to hear Agent Jones on the other end.

"Hello Neal."

"Hey, Jones. What's up? Peter ask you to check up on me?" he asked, his voice failing to keep out a hint of annoyance. _Do they think I'm off pursuing some roguery, _he wondered. If they only knew what he'd been doing all afternoon, stuck behind a desk, painstakingly researching statistics and paperwork minutia; something he always tried avoiding at home office. "Yeah, I forgot to call in."

"Have you heard from Peter today?" asked Jones, in a straight forward way, omitting friendly chitchat.

Neal was instantly on alert. "No. I haven't talked to him since this morning. Why?"

"He hasn't reported in for a several hours and the office can't reach him on his cell."

"Doesn't sound like Peter," answered Neal. "Where was his last location?"

Jones quickly brought Neal up to date on Peter's visit with James McDonnell in Astoria, the northwestern corner of the New York City borough of Queens.

"We know he touched base with McDonnell. Peter called after talking to him; left word he'd be back in the office, after running an errand," replied Jones, his voice neutral. "We haven't heard from him since."

"Did you talk to this 'McDonnell'?"

"Thought it best to check him out. Diana dropped by; she didn't see or hear anything suspicious. McDonnell said Peter was there thirty minutes, at the most, and left. Aside from recent association with Lowden, he's clean. No criminal background. We've placed an agent nearby; he's keeping an eye on McDonnell's office."

"Let me drop over there and take a look around," suggested Neal.

"No, you sit tight. You're on loan to BQRA, remember? I'll call you as soon as we hear from Peter; maybe he just forgot to charge his cell battery. Happened before, remember?"

"Yeah, but he'd always borrow my cell!"

"You weren't with him this time."

Jones ended the call with a curt goodbye.

Neal felt a sense of unease about the entire situation. In the past, he would have been with Peter when he investigated some likely source. As partners, they always protected each other's back. Suddenly, he wasn't so comfortable with his temporary assignment. Why hadn't he pressed Peter, earlier that morning, when the agent was so vague about his present casework?

Neal was determined to reach Peter himself. If he hadn't heard back from his friend or Jones by early evening, he would take matters into his own hands.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Opening his eyes, Peter saw nothing; he was in total darkness. Shaking with cold, instantly awake, he searched his memory for clues. For a brief moment, he had trouble remembering where he was or why he felt such discomfort.

_Why is it so dark, _he wondered?_ What's wrong with my eyesight? Oh yeah … I'm confined inside a storage cage, next to the little guy. Competently trussed and awaiting execution._ It was a deadly scenario for the lead agent of the Manhattan White Collar unit.

Peter's mouth was painfully dry; his stomach complained of hunger. He ached in numerous parts of his body; dull pain radiated primarily from his wrists, his fingers numb. Shifting slowly to his right side, he winced as he felt the hard concrete floor jolt his elbow.

Quietly stretching his throbbing joints, he shifted once more, listening for sound. Nothing. He sat up with a groan, back pedaling enough distance to lean his body against the rear wall. From his left direction, he heard scuffling from the next cubicle.

"Hey, Suit? Are you awake?"

"No!"

"Then I think I hear rats," commented Mozzie.

"Better watch out. I hear they reproduce as quickly as rabbits," Peter replied flatly.

"Ha! Now I get sarcasm from my caged companion." More scuffling noises ensued."I do my best to cover for you with Lowden and do you show appreciation? No."

Ignoring his companion's complaint, Peter straightened and flexed his legs. "What're you doing?"

"While you were dreaming of how many poor orphans you could incarcerate, I was practicing my chi," came the outlandish reply.

Regardless of his predicament, Peter couldn't prevent a snort of amazed disbelief.

"Seriously? You're telling me you've been practicing chi. Now? In the dark." He paused a moment. "Locked in a wire security cage?"

Burke straightened his back and dropped his head, rubbing his face with manacled hands. Of all the lunatics to be imprisoned with, it had to be Haversham. The man's eccentricities were oft times amusing, enlightening, frightening or just plain exasperating. On this occasion, incredibly sore, cold, hungry and worried, it was the latter.

"What better time may I ask? It's essential chi be performed consistently early morning, rain or shine … winter or summer. A martial art that promotes strength, endurance, calmness and stress reduction. _You_ most certainly would benefit. Emotional problems fade away." Mozzie, on a roll, continued his dissertation."Chi energy can be used for self-defense. It's practiced by millions for—"

"Thank you, Confucius. I feel greatly comforted."

"I've had time to be busy with other activities, probably closer to your militant tendencies."

"Are you going to enlighten me or is this my cue to play 20 questions?"

Mozzie sighed but refused the bait.

"I've been busy surreptitiously testing all the boundaries of my prison," came his reply.

"Did you find a way out?" Peter asked, pausing momentarily in his rather restricted calisthenics.

"Not yet," came the answer from the dark.

"By now the office is on high alert," said Peter. "They're scrutinizing all my current cases, placing their main focus on David Lowden. Jones and Diana will be working backwards from my last known whereabouts, eventually widening the search to interrogate Stanley and his crew. I'm sure they've notified Neal. Once he picks up on your disappearance, he'll start to put the pieces of the puzzle together."

"Answer one important question. Does your office know about this warehouse?" asked Mozzie.

"Not exactly."

"What's that suppose to mean? Not exactly."

"We know Stanley runs a computer supply and repair shop. The office will obtain search warrants for his place of business and warehouse facility ―"

"Good … good." Mozzie quickly interrupted. "But where's the 'not exactly' come in, Suit?" he repeated.

Peter hesitated before answering. "Stanley obviously maintains two warehouses, Mozzie. We're familiar with his primary place of business. Umm … this isn't the one on our radar."

"Wait a minute. You're admitting to me that your esteemed white collar crime unit failed to uncover all of Lowden's business enterprises?"

"Yes. I'm afraid I am. They brought me here after I left McDonnell's; I had no knowledge of this location."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Delighted with the reviews, favs and author alerts. Thank you.

Chapter 7

Heedless of Bronson and Lattimore's anger, Neal insisted upon leaving their office and heading home before the task force had completed the night's work. The BQRA officials had shrugged off his concern for Burke's safety. Agents often failed to report back to the office within a specified amount of time; it was rarely a cause for alarm.

Neal hadn't bothered to explain his unique bond with his partner or Peter's penchant for following prescribed safety rules. The lead agent would never needlessly worry his office staff. Peter held little sympathy for staff who failed to follow office protocol; Neal had witnessed several confrontations that ended badly for the unwary culprits. The memory of Peter's notorious scowl and the pale faces of the heretic agents brought a momentary smile to his face.

As the evening shadows lengthened, he paced the floor of his apartment, concerned that his numerous texts and phone messages to Mozzie were being ignored. At this critical time, when Neal needed his paranoid friend's knowledge and advice about the Lowdens, Mozzie refused to answer his damn cell phone. Neal suspected it was payback for how inattentive he had been the past few weeks.

Neal picked up his jacket and June's car keys. Quickly heading out the door, intent on his mission, he heard his cell chime. The initial spark of adrenaline quickly ebbed as he pulled out his phone, noting the origin. The caller had phoned him several times this evening.

"Hello Elizabeth" he answered hesitantly. "No, I haven't heard anything from Moz. Have you gotten an update from Hughes?"

"Nothing!" Elizabeth paused. "Not a word in the past several hours. Diana said the whole office is busy tracking down leads and investigating the area near McDowell's business. Neal, I'm really frightened; you know Peter's in serious trouble." Her voice trembled and choked on her next words. "He promised to come home early tonight; we … we were going out for Italian. Peter had joked this morning about a 'red letter day'."

"I'm leaving right now to locate Mozzie. I'm sure he can help me find Peter. I talked Jones into extending my radius," he explained. He didn't add the office was stymied by lack of clues in their effort to locate her husband. "I promise Elizabeth, I'll call you as soon as I get a lead."

Neal knew his words were insufficient. He was helpless to ease her fears.

"Please Neal" she begged, her voice dropping almost to a whisper. "Bring my husband home to me. Bring him home safe."

As he was about to answer with some ineffectual assuagement, El disconnected the call.

Neal raced downstairs and out the front door of June's elegant mansion. Traffic was relatively light as he drove straight to the area where Mozzie's old nemesis, Devlin, lived and hung out. He pulled up a few shops down from the trendy Maxwells, the ID forger's favorite café and bar.

Opening the car door, Neal stood silently for a moment before he approached the café's broad front window and peered inside. The place was packed and busy; the loud music playing in the background could be heard outside.

Maxwell's, a small Brooklyn neighborhood establishment, was well-known for its vivid crimson walls and furniture, inexpensive comfort food, dim lighting and cramped atmosphere. Neal hated the establishment and had traditionally refused Mozzie's invitations to dine there.

Steeling himself for a confrontation, he pushed the door open and walked inside, spying not only Devlin but several of Mozzie's other eccentric contacts. He had hit pay dirt!

Passing by several rowdy customers seated at the bar, the calm CI walked slowly to Devlin's table, then stopped.

Devlin's eyes widened with a glare. "What are you doing here Neal?" he asked, voice heavy with suspicion, his eyes searching the doorway for Neal's missing companion. "Did Mozzie bring you?"

Neal returned the forger's glare with an artificial smile.

"Hello, Fellas" he replied, sitting down, uninvited, at their table. "I need to talk to you about Mozzie and Stanley Lowden."

Neal's words were followed by a long silence.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

Inside the stockroom, the only indication the warehouse was again occupied and bustling with activity was a faint light now emitting from the bulb near the entrance door. Within ten minutes, the door slammed open and Mozzie and Peter heard an unwelcome voice.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauties."

Bailey's irritating presence became readily apparent as he stomped noisily through the door, down the corridor, past the numerous merchandise cages.

"Hey Stretch" he greeted Mozzie, passing by Peter with a quick glance, assessing the agent's hands were still painfully secured by steel handcuffs. "The Boss says it's time for you to come have a meal with us."

As the giant fumbled with the key to the security lock on Mozzie's cage, the little guy expressed indignation.

"It's about time. I'm really hungry and I have a delicate constitution."

Bailey chuckled. "Lowden wants to hear all about your sleepover with the Fed."

"Let's just say it wasn't one of the ten top choices on my dream sheet." Mozzie looked over at Peter. "More of a nightmare, if Lowden really needs to know."

"Wasn't a picnic for me either," Peter softly murmured to himself.

Bailey motioned Mozzie out of the cage and down the corridor. Passing by the agent, Mozzie stopped abruptly.

"What about Burke?"

"What about him?" questioned the thug.

"Aren't you taking him out with us?"

"Dead men don't need to eat, do they? But I'll come back and let him use the bathroom; I'm not cleaning up any mess."

Mozzie grimaced. "Very considerate of you."

"I thought so," was Bailey's unpretentious reply.

The two men exited the containment area; Peter sat back down on the floor of his cell, hoping Mozzie would use this opportunity to initiate an escape.

The mention of meals had reawakened his own hunger and thirst. Almost 24 hours had past since he any consumed any liquids, never mind food. When Bailey came back to escort him to the men's room, he planned to seize an opportunity to, at the very least, drink from the faucet.

Peter mentally dissected what seemed to be a hopeless situation. The minutes were ticking by with no rescue in sight.

As he glanced down at the cuffs on his red, swollen wrists, he noted they seemed much tighter; he was losing feeling in his fingers. What had begun as pain around the thumb, followed by tingling and burning, had now progressed to loss of sensation. If he managed to remove his restraints, seizing a weapon and holding on to it successfully might prove impossible. Glancing around the area, Peter frowned, suddenly focusing his eyes on a room fixture. He stood up, moving to the front of the cage, peering through the mesh for a better view.

The agent's fine analytical mind rapidly formulated an escape ruse. Maybe he didn't have to bank exclusively on his caged companion's success. In fact, if Mozzie failed to free himself and was returned to the containment area, Peter's plan had much better odds of success.

Why was he fooling himself! His plan probably didn't have a snowball's chance in hell at succeeding … but it beat the alternative.

Bound and awaiting his execution.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I'll be returning to the East Coast next weekend. My next chapter might be a few days late.

Chapter 8

Returning to the containment area, Bailey escorted Peter to the restroom. Lowden's enforcer took great pleasure in yanking the agent around by the cuffs on his wrists, maximizing any additional pain he could inflict. When Peter quickly opened a faucet and drank water with his hands, the giant laughed uproariously, surprising Peter by holding off further abuse.

It was only after they returned to the containment area that Bailey enacted retribution. He slammed Peter to the floor of his cage, pummeling and admonishing him about taking presumed liberties. Securing the Quattro bolt lock to the door, the strongman left.

Mozzie was eventually returned to his cage accompanied by another of Lowden's men. Peter didn't recognize this particular goon, amidst the crowd of twenty-some odd characters he had seen during his undignified arrival at the warehouse. The agent figured Bailey was probably preoccupied somewhere else, pulling wings off flies.

Glancing over at his prison mate, Mozzie surreptitiously assessed his condition. He wondered if, during his absence, Peter had suffered additional abuse. Knowing it was useless to ask, the agent would assume the state of reticence; he refrained from questioning his companion.

"I wasn't sure I'd see you back," said Peter. "Was hoping you'd find an opportunity to run."

"If I had, they'd probably kill you sooner, Suit." He shook his head negatively and sighed. "Nope, I'm not having Elizabeth come after me for vengeance! Listen, I had quite a conversation with ole Stanley. I convinced him to give me additional time to insidiously gather more details about that secret file you have."

"Secret file?"

"The one you told me about last night. The file that holds all the facts you've collected about the Lowdens' prison contacts. Who you suspect they're paying off … warrants you plan to request within days … the file you failed to tell your office staff about because you're worried federal prison corruption has reach into your own unit. You know how untrustworthy Jones and Berrigan are," Mozzie added, with a mischievous wink. "And that Blake kid, he even looks suspicious."

"Why would Lowden believe I'd tell you about some secret file … or about anything?" asked Peter.

"You think only Neal has a gift for gab? I happen to have been his illustrious instructor in the art of the con! Lowden has two weaknesses, my conFEDerate. He suffers from myopia and he's protecting his brother's prison connections; I played off that. It won't last long but it'll give us more time."

Peter smiled his crooked grin. "Gives me a little more time." He paused for a moment, quizzical expression registering on his face. "At breakfast, Mozzie … did you have a chance to escape?"

No answer seemed forthcoming as the smaller man reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulling out several items, placing them on the floor of his cage.

"After my enthralling discussion with Stanley, while our intellectual virtuosos were busy stuffing themselves with food, I had a short opportunity to gather a few necessities."

Holding up a thin piece of wire, he motioned Peter over to their adjacent side wall. "First, let's get those shackles off. Once we're done with that, you can eat these unappetizing but nutritional-enhanced energy bars.

Peter stared at the food bars placed on the floor. Five of them!

What?" Mozzie asked. "I got you three different flavors! Hey, I'm sorry … I ran out of time to snag a water bottle."

The conman caught a quick glimpse of heartfelt appreciation.

"Thanks, Mozzie," was Peter's simple reply.

"Don't get any ideas. It's hardly altruistic. I had to find something to keep you busy while I work on our cage door padlocks and … and you're much too big for me to be hauling out of here weakened by hunger."

Amused, Peter sat down, positioning his wrists against the mesh. Mozzie stiffened for a moment after glimpsing the condition of Peter's bound hands. His brow furrowed with concern.

"Ah … law enforcement Peerless Handcuffs," Mozzie whispered. "How bad is it?"

"I have limited sensation in my hands," Peter admitted. "The circulation's been obstructed."

Mozzie began the procedure to unlock the cuffs. "A bobby pin works better but this'll have to do," he stated matter-of-factly. "You don't happen to have a bobby pin, do you?"

Without waiting for an answer, he quickly performed his intricate movements, bending his small wire to a 90 degree angle, inserting it in the upper part of the lock, and pushing the wire in part way. Positioning the strand to the left, maneuvering it into an "S" shape, he continued under the handcuff housing until the wire slid against the lock mechanism. Within seconds the lock released.

"Voila. As easy as pie."

"You mean 'a piece of cake,'" groaned Peter as the cuffs slid from his wrists unleashing a torrent of pain around his thumbs and wrists. Pretty certain he was suffering nerve damage, a minor irritant compared to their precarious hostage situation, Peter continue to converse, deflecting his discomfort with tidbits of obscure history.

"Those colloquial idioms came about from phrases used in the mid—"

"Nineteenth century, America," finished Mozzie. "You're not the only one who enjoys compiling useful minutia."

"As for stealing second and third—" began Peter.

"—it's like eating pie," finished Mozzie.

The two men smiled broadly, delighted with their offbeat knowledge of a catchphrase coined way back in 1886.

Peter began to vigorously massage his wrists and hands, attempting to bring back a modicum of sensation as Mozzie manipulated the padlock in front of his own enclosure.

Numbness in Peter's fingers continued as he fumbled to pick up and open the food bars Mozzie had so kindly purloined. Uttering soft-spoken profanities, tearing into the wrapper with his teeth, Peter shifted his feet, obviously uncomfortable with his progressive weakness.

Chewing ravenously, the agent moved closer to the front of his cage, directing his gaze toward the far corner of the back wall, surveying the scene with a critical eye. When he lowered his eyes, he noticed the little guy staring at him intently before searching out the area that had held Peter's attention.

"Do you see it?" asked Peter.

"Yeah … I do. Might work, Suit. Is this something you've been hatching since I was gone?"

"If we get access to that generator over there and set off the fire suppression system, we could create enough of a disturbance to surprise our hosts.

Mozzie smiled. "It does looks amazingly like an aerosol fire suppression system . Won't remove the oxygen or release hydrofluoric acid on us. Better yet, those systems have a manual pull system plus a control panel. I like how you think."

"Whoa … did you just hear yourself?"

"Frightening! I'm losing my sanity … 'Imprisonment hit me so hard – much harder than I had thought'."

"Hmm … Mathias Rust." Peter looked thoughtful. "Of course you'd quote that aviator. You know he was sentenced to four years of Russian hard labor as a hooligan? In fact, he was described as an oddball."

"Yes, a fascinating hero."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

When politeness, coercion and bribery tactics didn't work to gain the information necessary from Devlin and his cohorts, Neal had resorted to blatant threats. Conscious of precious time ticking away, he tossed away his charming persona, allowing honest irritation to register on his face.

Devlin, cocky at first, blustered about not being easily intimidated by a smooth, handsome conman tethered to a monitoring anklet. Once Neal began detailing several of Devlin's past counterfeiting schemes, with a thinly veiled reference to a morning visit to FBI headquarters, the young forger hesitantly backed down.

Although Neal won the battle on the intimidation front, he was still forced to spend precious hours encouraging the motley group to spill all they knew about Mozzie's recent encounters with the Lowden gang. The image of Peter displaying a proud grin over his interrogative methods momentarily flashed into his mind; an occurrence Neal desperately wanted to witness first-hand, once again.

One of Devlin's friends, gangly and bald Perry Schmidt, took a swig of his beer and told Neal about overhearing archrival Two-Fingers complaining that Stanley Lowden had snatched his personal cell phone to call Mozzie.

"Two-Fingers was ranting all over town that Lowden preferred Mozzie's expertise over his own. He didn't even seem to care that Stanley stole his phone," Schmidt had chuckled. "I heard him say Lowden was meeting Mozzie for an extremely lucrative operation, from one he had been shut out of!" Schmidt added a side-note that Two-Fingers, not taking the slight well, uttered imaginative but unlikely threats against both men.

With the realization Mozzie had not hidden himself away in an angry huff, but was in probable danger along with Peter, the CI began to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Lowden must be involved in their disappearance. Neal suspected Peter had somehow gotten wind of a meeting between Mozzie and Stanley Lowden. Not wanting to tell the office any details, until he assessed the men's involvement, Peter must have somehow been caught unaware by the thugs.

"Where did Stanley Lowden tell Mozzie to meet him?" grilled Neal with ferocious intensity.

The men responded by shaking their heads. Disheartened to discover Devlin and his friends held only vague ideas of where Mozzie's rendezvous had taken place, Neal would be forced to investigate two separate locations. Devlin provided the address for Stanley's bustling warehouse in Brooklyn, followed by an obscure street reference without specific address number in Astoria; a location Two-Fingers had occasionally referenced as an additional clandestine operation.

Neal phoned Clinton Jones, asking the office to expedite the apprehension of Two-Fingers and Lowden for immediate questioning. Not willing to wait for the Manhattan office to obtain a legitimate warrant to search Lowden's computer warehouse, the brash CI promised he'd head into the office, but instead drove off into the night to investigate both of Stanley Lowden's locales. After parking June's vehicle outside the Brooklyn warehouse, he paused for a moment, placing a quick call to Elizabeth informing her about the promising lead.

If this area didn't pan out, he would travel to Astoria, not stopping throughout the early morning hours until he located his two best friends. In all honesty, Neal was terrified about their safety.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXX

Mozzie stood outside Peter's cage. Busily working away to spring the padlock on the enclosure, his fingers deftly played with the lock mechanism while he occasionally glanced over to the main door, uttering an expressive sigh.

"We need to hurry," said Peter. "Forget the front door and concentrate."

"Sure, sure … you might enjoy going down in flames as a fallen hero but I certainly don't want that as my epitaph."

"Well, what kind do you want?"

Mozzie stopped momentarily, distracted by the question.

"Right now, I want my epitaph to read 'he lived to a ripe old age of 120'. Is that too much to ask? I keep picturing Bailey the Behemoth striding through the door and slowly ripping my limbs off, one at a time," he replied with obvious distaste. "Since I've grown quite fond of my appendages, Mon Ami, and you don't seem to hold the upper hand, I admit to a wee bit of apprehension."

Peter acknowledged Mozzie's concern with a humble nod of acceptance. He felt his fellow prison mate was quite apt with his description. As a federal agent, it was his responsibility to protect and safeguard his companion's well-being. He had failed in that duty. In Peter's mind, Mozzie was justified in criticism thrown his way. The law official was determined to right the situation. Once free of this ridiculous hoosegow, Peter's priority was engineering Mozzie's escape.

Mozzie straightened his back, pulling on Peter's door; it swung open without a sound. He raised his eyebrows and stepped back. "Voila."

Both men smiled. Peter headed for one of the aerosol generators mounted high on the rear corner wall.

"Have you ever activated one of these manually?" asked Mozzie.

"Nope. But I plan to learn how right now. Let's try opening the control panel box and disconnecting the safeguard. If we're lucky, the system's tied in with a fire alarm. The particles expelled from these zones will create a fog providing us cover we need to grab the first man coming through the outer door. Lucky for us this is aerosol; we don't have to worry about a toxic environment."

Peter fumbled with the control panel door, wincing when he raised his hands above chest level. Pain knifed from his fingertips up through his lower forearm. He ignored the discomfort and reached, once again, for the box.

"Hold on, Suit. Why don't I do that? You have sausage fingers; I remember how it took eons to teach you the con game." He quickly pulled up a chair and stood on it, ready to manipulate the aerosol system.

Peter responded, at first, with a signature glare.

"Okay," he relented, smiling slightly, as if it was of no consequence. "Check it out while I position myself near the entrance. Just don't activate the system until I give you the signal!"

"Don't worry," said Mozzie. " I'll be sure to 'follow Suit'."

Striding down the path to the door, the agent paused at the reply, turning once to look back.

The little guy smiled disarmingly, breaking down Peter's inner emotional defense. The special agent didn't acknowledge the covert expression of respect, surprised at how pleasant it felt. Maybe his caution flags should be raised; he was getting way too close to Elizabeth's quirky friend!

Peter positioned himself near the entrance door, armed with a crowbar left lying inside one of the opened containment cages. He could barely grasp the weapon, maneuvering it sandwiched against his lower arms. He would use his entire torso to swing it forward at the first man through the entryway.

"Activate the device," ordered Peter. "It's now or never."

With a nod of affirmation, Mozzie manually pulled the release mechanism. Immediately a pre-determined alarm delay was sounded. A beacon and klaxon gave warning the discharge was imminent.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: I apologize for the chapter being several days late. The story concludes next week.

Chapter 10

A deafening barrage of noise bounced and echoed off the containment area walls. Hastily covering his ears for protection, Mozzie leaped from the chair to the floor. He appeared to shrink down within himself, huddling close to the ground. Peering down the hall, he noted his companion didn't have the luxury of minimizing the booming klaxon.

Agent Burke stood unmoving, clutching his carbon steel weapon, poised to attack and overpower the first man through the door. Mozzie quickly bit his lower lip, closing his eyes for a few seconds. He didn't really believe their ruse would be successful. It seemed his tombstone wouldn't contain the epitaph he so desired. A lump of dread formed in his chest.

"Hoka hey. It's a good day to die," he whispered to himself repeatedly, attempting to stir himself to action with the old Teton Lakota battle cry.

The scam artist knew he should be rushing to join Peter, standing with him united, shoulder to, well … elbow, but he couldn't seem to make his limbs move forward.

Within seconds both men heard a "swoosh …"

Potassium-based aerosol discharged from several generators scattered around the room, creating a fog of very fine suspended particles within the air. An ideal tool for computer rooms, designed to protect equipment and data, the mist quickly spread out, infiltrating the most hard-to-reach areas. Due to its small mass and stability of the active compounds, the particles remained suspended in the large room, designed to eliminate the possibility of fire re-ignition.

Peter, deafened by the din and assaulted with blinding propellant gas and powder, struggled to maintain his balance and remain ready to strike the first man through the entryway. Eyes partially shut, he glimpsed the door forced violently open.

Swinging at a shadow, Peter felt the impact but failed to retain hold of his weapon; swearing at his useless hands, he threw his body at the intruder, knocking them both to the ground. As they rolled violently back and forth, the agent heard an animated shout, vaguely sensing another person had rushed up behind him.

"Tenno Haika! Banzai!"

Peter instantly recognized that voice.

"Stay behind me, Mozzie," shouted Peter.

"Hold him, Suit," came the next words. "I'm going to jam the door shut and I think this guy dropped a gun. I'm going to find it."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Neal had spent the early morning hours on a wild-goose chase, investigating Stanley Lowden's Brooklyn office.

Surreptitiously slipping into the facility, he found no evidence of illicit activities. Rushing past refurbished computers and equipment, he bypassed colorful signs pitching super deals, equipment recycling, asset recovery and friendly service! Amidst all this advertising and slick merchandise Neal had failed to uncover his missing friends.

With heightened trepidation, the conman roared off to northwest Queens, spewing exhaust fumes behind him, making his way quickly to 47th Street; the area Devlin and associates had vaguely identified as Lowden's secondary business establishment. Neal jammed on the brakes, parked on the street and cut the ignition. Climbing out of June's car, he scanned the area.

_They're here … they have to be. _

_Come on Peter! Which building is it? Send me some signal; I need your help. I know you and Moz are in terrible danger._

If Peter had somehow sensed his partner's heartfelt plea, he was unable to respond. The street appeared quiet and serene.

Devlin's vague reference to a covert Astoria warehouse left Neal anxiously wandering the pavement looking for any anomaly that would offer a clue to Peter and Mozzie's whereabouts. The street contained industrial space, offering numerous commercial properties and retail buildings.

Neal was aware the White Collar unit was vigorously pursuing their own leads. Diana questioned David Lowden in prison, Jones had re-interrogated McDowell, and Hughes himself was leading the investigation to locate the whereabouts of Two-Fingers and Stanley Lowden. It was just a matter of time before something broke open.

Although several agents had eventually been sent to join him in canvassing the vicinity of 47th Street, Neal moved further away down the street, putting distance between himself and law enforcement. He had always worked best without constraints, legal or otherwise; that is until Peter made him compromise his modus operandi.

As the hours ticked away, he moved from one warehouse vicinity and office building to another. It wasn't until late morning that the young felon finally caught a break.

Several men standing in the alley by a nondescript storehouse appeared to be taking a cigarette break. Two of them looked familiar to Neal, reminding him of some low-brow criminals the office had arrested in past fraud violations. He caught the tail end of their conversation.

"Come on! Let's head back. The boss wants those computers loaded."

"Yeah," one of the other men responded. "He's nervous about the feds; it's not the day to push our luck."

Shuffling their feet and taking the last drag of their cigarette butts before throwing them to the ground, the group headed back inside their building. Neal quickly followed behind.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXX

"You're putting that goon in one of our cells?"asked Mozzie. His countenance and clothes were covered with fine particles of the aerosol agent that was swirling around gracefully in the air. "It's poetic justice, I say."

The little guy stood guard near the barred storage door. His hand held tightly to the pistol Lowden's stooge had dropped during Peter's assault.

"Too bad the first one through the door wasn't Bailey. You could seek some comeuppance, Suit."

"I don't work that way, Mozzie. I thought you knew that by now," replied Peter, as he finished shoving the scoundrel into the storage cage he himself had just previously occupied.

"Ah! I get it. Prosecution is the best revenge. You suits are all the same. Is it the water you were forced to drink at Quantico?"

The slightest hint of a smile was on the corner of Peter lips. With dry aerosol clinging to his hair and suit, he ignored Mozzie's jibe, stepping forward to meet his dutiful assistant.

"Revenge is for the weak," he told Mozzie. "Crimes should be avenged, justice provides the punishment."

Mozzie wished he believed in justice. He had seen little of it in his youth, only that which Mr. Jeffries, his mentor, had provided. He decided, however, that now wasn't the time to debate the point further.

The agent frowned thoughtfully, understanding the smaller man's unspoken message.

"Thanks for holding the weapon," Peter added after a pause. "We should be able to hold them off long enough for the fire department to respond. With the system activation relaying an alarm, I bet Lowden and crew will be hightailing it out of here."

His words were no sooner spoken when a loud disturbance was heard from outside. Sirens, shouts, and scuffling ensued followed by a heavy pounding outside their entranceway.

"Peter," yelled a familiar voice. "Can you open the door." Shots were fired as Peter heard Hughes' distinctive bellow.

"Caffrey! Get away from that door."

Mozzie pushed past Peter, nearly knocking him into the wall. He quickly turned the lock and flung open the reinforced door. "Neal … Neal. Tell the cavalry not to shoot. We're got it covered."

"Stop!" commanded Peter.

He reached out and tried to grab Mozzie by the collar. His useless hands failed to hold him. Fortunately, they were both stopped in their tracks by an exuberant Neal Caffrey, slipping into the doorway, gawking at their appearance and encasing first one, then the other in an exuberant bear hug.

Stepping into the outer hallway, they spied city firemen with rescue equipment, numerous FBI agents and several of Lowden's men in handcuffs. Law enforcement was represented by not only the Manhattan agents but several BQRA officials, including Lattimore and Bronson.

"Are you both alright?" asked Neal as Hughes, Jones and Diana quickly approached. "You're covered in—"

"Potassium propellant," Mozzie responded in that grumbly tone of his, letting out a long-suffering sigh."Everyone took their sweet time coming to our rescue. Neal was probably kept out of the loop."

As he brushed past Diana, he paused for only a moment. "Take care of the Suit; he's hurt," he whispered in her ear, handing her the gun and quickly slipping away without a backward glance.

"Peter?" asked Hughes. "Are you injured?"

"Just lost sensation in my hands," answered Peter. "I'll be fine. How did you track us here?"

Hughes glanced over at Neal. "We were following several leads when Caffrey called in that he traced you to this warehouse. He was in the building when the alarm went off; we responded the same time as the fire department. We held back the firemen while we rounded up some of Lowden's men. Stanley got away, but we'll track him down."

Peter looked over at Neal. "You traced me to this warehouse."His eyes lighted with interest. "I have to hear all about this—"

"He can tell you all about it on the way to the hospital. Peter, I want you checked out," interrupted Hughes.

"Good plan," responded Neal with a grin. "And you can call Elizabeth on my cell phone."

Peter nodded quickly, inwardly relieved the ordeal was over.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Special thanks to Ali, Mary & Michael for beta help. Thank you to my wonderful friends and readers who spur me on to write White Collar fanfic! My gratitude goes out to Jeff Eastin & WC staff writers who continue to provide us a quality show and the beloved characters we regard as family.

Chapter 11

Elizabeth was in the kitchen when she heard three loud knocks on the Burkes' front door. Satchmo, tail wagging, raced ahead to welcome the visitor.

"I'll answer that, Hon," she called out to her husband seated on the living room couch. Peter was busy riffling through office paperwork, strewn carelessly on the coffee table.

"I can't find the documents Neal dropped off yesterday," said Peter, his voice edged with exasperation. "It doesn't help that my hands are still pretty damn useless! Why do I even bother to go see that doctor? All he does is repeat his mantra … _give it_─"

He was quickly interrupted by El. "_Time_, Agent Burke. Yes, I know Peter; let me get the door."

Elizabeth opened the door to greet Special Agent Berrigan. Diana was standing there, portfolio stuffed with government case files, balanced awkwardly in her arms.

"Come in, Diana. My goodness! Did you empty out Peter's file cabinet?"

Diana laughed as she greeted Elizabeth and smiled down at the Burkes' dog.

"I wanted to make sure we didn't miss anything on David Lowden," she replied, walking toward the living room. "Hi Boss. I collected all the data you requested and then some." There was a slight hesitation before she added, "How're you feeling?"

"Fine!" he answered stiffly.

Diana and El traded glances.

"Careful," said Elizabeth. "Peter's upset he's still on medical leave."

Peter grimaced as he rose from the couch. "I'm upset the doctor didn't okay my return to limited duty status. I have to wait until at least Tuesday; it's ridiculous. I can as easily work at my office desk as I can here at home. I'd be there right now except Hughes refused my request."

Sitting back down, he gestured to the couch. "Please put that right here." Turning to face her, his voice softened as he bit back his irritation. "I'm sorry … have a seat, Diana. And thanks for dropping off all this paperwork."

Diana heard the sincerity in his voice; she knew he was struggling with being sidelined. Burke didn't suffer absence from duty gracefully. The younger agent knew how anxious he was to return to the unit and prepare prosecution against the Lowden brothers.

Ordered home to recuperate from his kidnapping, her boss had been staying in the loop, on the phone constantly with his staff, overseeing the operation. Peter had spent the last two days researching Stanley Lowden's Astoria warehouse assets, attempting to tie in specific merchandise as items originally purchased by his brother, David.

Within minutes of Diana's arrival, Peter's cell rang. Fumbling with pulling the device out of his pocket, growling with frustration, he looked at the faceplate and excused himself for a moment to take the call. As he left the room, Diana quickly turned to Elizabeth.

"Can you tell me about Peter's condition? What'd the doctor say? Hughes hasn't shared much with the office staff."

"You're worried about Peter."

"Yes," Diana admitted, her brow furrowed with concern. "We really thought he'd be back to work by now. Is there anything you can tell us that we should know?"

Elizabeth nodded. Choosing her words carefully, she lowered her voice and related a few facts her husband would be loath to share.

"The neurologist said Peter suffered radial nerve damage from the handcuffs; the pressure against the bone and lack of circulation starved the nerves of oxygen. If only the insulation around the nerves are damaged, his symptoms can clear up in a few weeks. If the nerve itself is bruised … well, it will die off and have to re-grow before he'll have normal sensation back." She paused. "That could take months."

Diana winced.

"It could have been so much worse," rationalized El. "Peter knows that. If other major nerves had been damaged, it might have been permanently disabling. He would have lost control of the muscles in his hands." She smiled softly. "I'm so relieved he's safe. I just want to keep him here by my side. I know it's selfish─"

"No, it's not," Diana interrupted. "I understand how it was for you. It's hard to admit but we were all fearing the worst."

"Peter told me Stanley Lowden was apprehended yesterday. He's pretty anxious to question that man about his brother's complicity."

"Well … armed with some of the information Peter's been providing us, Hughes sent a team over to the prison to re-interrogate David. We're waiting for word─"

"Just heard from Jones," said Peter as he hurried back to the room. "We got them … we got them both! Davey Lowden copped a deal. And he didn't feel the need to protect his older brother Stanley, not when he was facing an additional prison sentence that could have earned him one of the longest in white collar crime."

His excited smile gave Elizabeth's heart a leap. She hadn't seen Peter look so animated in days.

"What tipped the scale?" asked Diana.

"Combination of things," grinned Peter, his exuberance increasing. "Seems identity theft and bribery charges were significantly threat-worthy once David was confronted with an additional charge of kidnapping and attempted murder of a federal officer. One of his inside accomplices … of which there were many, broke first. When we implicated Davey, several of the co-conspirators started singing."

Elizabeth walked over to her husband, placing her hand on Peter's elbow as if to personally shield him from harm, a reminder to herself he was physically safe at home. They smiled at each other as she gently squeezed his arm. He responded by reaching out to his wife's head, using numb fingers to gently smooth back a stray lock of her hair.

"Get this," Peter continued. "A few weeks ago, when we got wind of what David might be up to, prison officials transferred him to a special lock-down area to keep him away from the phones. One of his accomplices told us Lowden paid a $15,000 bribe to use a correctional officer's cell phone!" Peter shook his head in amazement. "Seems he's so brazen and addicted to telemarketing fraud and ready cash, he couldn't stop, even knowing we were hot on his trail."

"How big is the conspiracy ring?"asked El.

"About seven to eight and still counting," answered a grim-faced Diana. "I'll head back to the office and see where we stand on filing charges." She headed to the door and paused. "Is the Labor Day cookout still on for the weekend?"

"You bet. Although this year … I guess I'll take some help working the grill. Neal told me Mozzie volunteered; I appreciate the offer but there's no way, I'm letting him near any flames," Peter chuckled. "Tell Jones he's my man."

"Okay Boss."Diana turned briefly with a smile, giving a quick wave. "Bye, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth moved closer, embracing Peter in a hug.

"Congratulations, honey. I know how much you wanted to crack this case."

As she thought of his injuries, she stroked his hands. "Everything will work out," she added.

Peter understood. Kissing the top of her head, he kept his voice low. "I'm okay, El. Really. Forgive me for being such a bear lately. Whether I'm back on full active duty within weeks … or even months … I'm a very lucky man."

"Yes, Peter Burke. You are!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Okay Neal. Let's set up the next DVD."

Neal felt a chill run through his body.

Mozzie was seated on Neal's couch, glass goblet in hand, sneakered feet propped on the coffee table. Luxuriating in the comfort of his friend's apartment, he was enjoying Neal's undivided attention. Both men sat facing the television, surrounded by several bottles of wine and mounds of comfort food generously supplied by June.

Hiding his apprehension, Neal stood up, slowly moving to the television set, resigned to inserting yet another _Tiles of Fire_ sequel into the Sony player.

"Don't you want to take a break, Moz? We're already seen four movies. Let's stretch our legs," suggested his weary and desperate friend. "We could even get back to our game of chess."

"Not yet," replied Mozzie. "I want to see the _Tiles of Fire V: Vengeance Unleashed_. Then we can discuss which sequel is the best and which one failed to live up to its visionary promise."

_I don't think I can take much more, _thought Neal as he faked a smile and appeared casual about what he had just been told.

"Well … want me to run out for some more wine, while you watch the next one?" _Maybe I could hide out at the Burkes' house?_

"Nope." Mozzie smacked his lips. "What other goodies should I try next?"

Neal didn't reply. In his mind, he evaluated his predicament.

_The old guilt game! My preoccupation with BQRA allowed me to become inattentive and easily distracted; I should have known the location of that warehouse. But really … I think I've paid my dues. Even June stopped watching these dreadful B-movies two hours ago … I'm starting to think Peter had an easier time, cuffed in the warehouse._

"Hey Neal. I really appreciate you offering to spend the afternoon with me. How come the suits in Queens are letting you have time off? They didn't even put up a fuss about the Burkes' barbeque."

"They're thrilled we've gotten a break in the Costa case; the office is close to wrapping it up. I only have a few more days with them." He watched with amusement as his friend arranged more of June's appetizers on a plate. "And … Agent Bronson's feeling bad about Peter's situation. He told me to check in with the Manhattan office this weekend."

A brownie stopped an inch away from Mozzie's mouth. "Hey! I've decided what to bring for the Labor Day party." He smiled a wicked grin.

"What?"

"I had been contemplating Flambé ice cream but I changed my mind. How about _Crème Brulee_ — a retro dessert everyone secretly loves!"

"Whoa Moz! Peter hasn't recovered from his ordeal yet. Last year he had to heft that heavy fire extinguisher to put out your cherries jubilee," said Neal wryly. "I don't think it's such a good idea to stress him out."

"Oh ye of little faith. I'm doing this for him; it'll ensure the party's success. Elizabeth will appreciate the winning recipe and Peter will love the taste. I can fire up a blowtorch to burn the layer of sugar as well as the next guy. All you need to do is take simple precautions. Later we can use the blowtorch to toast marshmallows."

Neal grinned widely. "No way am I going to miss Peter's annual Labor Day Cookout."

.


End file.
